Men of Honor
by dreamsweetmydear
Summary: Olivia is abducted outside of the pharmacy she uses by someone with a grudge against Elliot. Now, Elliot and the rest of the SVU team must figure out the riddles to get her back before it's too late. Slight spoilers for episode 'Philadelphia'. Slight EO.
1. Chapter One

**From the author's desk:** Hi there. I'm no newbie to fanfiction, but this is the first time I've ever written in this fandom. (Most of my work can be found in the _Rurouni Kenshin_ section.) I do hope that this piques your interest, and that you enjoy what you see.

**Disclaimer:** Dick Wolf owns them, not me.

**Dedication: **This chapter and story is dedicated to **Kelly of the Midnight Dawn**, because she's the one who finally convinced me to start writing in this fandom. And she came up with the title:D

_**Men of Honor  
**_by **_IceAngelKaoru_**

**Chapter One**

Elliot wasn't sure if he was allowed to laugh at the sight in front of him, because for the first time in his many years with Manhattan Special Victims, he was seeing his partner and best friend asleep on the job, with her head on her desk, her ponytail covering most of her face, and her eyes closed to the world.

Olivia Benson _never_ slept on the job, especially when working a case.

But today, there was no case, no rush against time to catch a perp, no need to be out on the streets questioning the victims or the people who knew them; just tons of boring, seemingly unnecessary paperwork.

And Elliot Stabler _hated_ paperwork with a passion.

Thus, he found a large dose of amusement in throwing small, wadded up pieces of paper at his partner to see how long it took to get her attention. In the corner, Munch and Fin looked on amusedly as they gathered some documents relating to the case they were working and made their way out the door.

He knew throwing paper was a juvenile thing to do, but boredom had to be cured, and paperwork only made the disease worse.

However, right after he'd thrown another wad of paper at the sleeping Olivia, her eyes opened slowly, and she lethargically turned her head to stare at him.

"Good afternoon, Sleeping Beauty," he quipped, a playful smirk on his face.

She looked at him sourly, then covered her mouth as she coughed a few times, the action wracking her body. He felt concern flood him as he took notice of her ashen face, flushed cheeks, and glossy eyes.

"Are you okay?"

She shook her yes, stopped a second, and let her shoulders slump as she shook her head no. She frowned at him, the expression on her face childish and cute, even with her pale complexion.

"I'm sick," she croaked out. Glancing at her computer clock, she picked up her pen to continue working through the small sea of files on her desk.

He stared at her for minute as if she'd grown two heads. "Shouldn't you go home?"

She shook her head again. "Nothing I can't handle," she mumbled.

Elliot frowned slightly; she'd been overworking herself lately. The Marsden case had really crushed her; learning that Simon Marsden, the one blood relative she had in this world, was just like her father was one of the most painful things she'd had to swallow in her time as an SVU detective.

That fact alone had torn her apart.

On top of that, she had taken some serious heat for her actions once she'd confessed to Cragen that she'd illegally run her DNA through the system. Luckily, she'd only received a couple weeks worth of suspension and a temporary partner switch.

Elliot had gotten into some trouble as well since he'd gone along with the whole thing; he got of with a couple days of suspension and a partner switch, but that was it.

Cragen seemed to realize, though, that even though he and Olivia were close—closer than was seemingly appropriate for such a job as theirs—it was that closeness that made them such a successful pair. He had always treated them as if they were his kids, and like any father, he got over his anger at them for doing something stupid, and forgave them.

The damage had been done, however; Olivia could not help but feel that she'd majorly screwed up, and she continued to harbor that guilt to this day.

Elliot sighed, and went back to work; it was useless to dwell on something that was already done. All he could do was pray that one day, she would find the peace she deserved.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye when another round of coughs shook her in her seat.

"I think you should see a doctor," he said.

"I'll be fine," she threw back.

"Not without help, you won't. Go home, Olivia," Cragen said from his doorway.

"But Captain—"

"No buts. Go see a doctor, take a few days off to get better, then come back. I will not have anymore germs crawling around my precinct in the middle of November if I can avoid it. _Go home_," he said, his tone stern as he crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a don't-argue-with-me look.

"But what about all this?" she said, pointing to the piles of folders stacked on her desk.

"It'll eventually get done," he said, and pointed to the elevator bank. "Out. _Now_."

She pouted, and muttered a "Yes, Dad" under her breath.

"I heard that!" she heard her boss call back, and she sunk a little low in her seat as Elliot chuckled at her.

She sighed, coughed again, and slowly gathered her bag and coat, and trudged a little unsteadily toward the elevator as she got on her cell phone to make a quick phone call.

"Hi. May I please make an appointment for this afternoon with Dr. Morrison?" she asked the person on the other line, her tone tired, croaky, and defeated.

He shook his head at her, and signaled that he'd call her later. She nodded at him and stepped into the elevator.

**000**

Olivia slowly trudged to her parked car, a small white bag of prescription meds in one hand and her car keys in the other.

She hated being sick, because of the lack of functionality it caused her. It was all she could do to drive steadily on the slick New York streets, and the fever raging inside her body made her feel like the wind was twice as cold as she shuddered violently from chills.

She still couldn't understand how she'd gotten both pneumonia and the flu at the same time. Her doctor had prescribed medicine to keep down the nausea she usually felt when se had a fever and help her sleep, which she generally hadn't been getting enough of ever since her "punishment" for the Marsden case had ended.

She'd probably been overworking herself. She shook her head lightly; leave it to her to not realize it ahead of time.

She fumbled with the keys to her car, trying to figure out which key went into the lock without making herself sick. She'd just managed to open the door and put her meds inside the car between the driver's and passenger's seats when she paused to catch her breath from a sudden dizzy spell; she really was in need of sleep, she realized. She was so out of it that she didn't notice anyone had come up behind her until she felt the cool yet deadly metal barrel of a gun at her temple.

A bit shocked, she turned slowly to face her attacker as she tried to keep the panic coursing through her from coming up and out of her stomach.

"Get in the car, and don't make a noise or I'll blow off that pretty little head of yours," he said, his lips moving freely through the mouth hole in the ski mask he wore, while narrow and cold jade eyes glaring maliciously at her from the peepholes.

Telling this guy that she was a cop would do her no good at this point in time, she realized.

She had to find a way to get in touch with Elliot.

She nodded slowly at him and sat down in the driver's seat. She heard the back door of her car open and felt the car shift as he sat down directly behind her. The doors closed, and she started the car to warm it up from the November chill.

Slowly, she slipped her hand in her coat pocket where a pack of cough drops and her cell phone lay.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked her, jamming the barrel painfully into her head painfully.

"Nothing," she croaked, moving her fingers quickly to speed dial Elliot's phone. "Just getting a cough drop; I'm sick." Grabbing a small cherry cough drop after pushing the call button, she quickly withdrew her hand from her pocket to throw off his suspicions.

He seemed to buy it, and ordered her to start driving. As she turned the key in the ignition, she could only hope that Elliot realized that she was trying to lead him to wherever this creep was leading her.

**TBC…**


	2. Chapter Two

**From the author's desk:** Here's Chapter Two, everyone. Thanks so much for all of your reviews! You guys are great! And those of you familiar with the Manhattan/NYC area and anything around it, please feel free to correct me on the presence of the forest outside of the city limits. I may not replace it in the story, but I would like to have the factoid for my own personal knowledge. Read on, and I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Dick Wolf owns them, not me.

**Dedication:** All of you reviewers! You've made me feel welcome in this fandom, and I thank you for it!

_**Men of Honor  
**_by **_IceAngelKaoru_**

**Chapter Two**

Elliot stared at his cell phone in shock.

That couldn't have been real. It just _couldn't_.

He blinked several times, shook his head, and felt the cop in him take over his frame of mind. He got out of his car and hurried back into the building from where he had come. Stepping into the elevator, he pushed the button for the precinct floor.

He had to get Cragen to hear what he'd just heard.

**000**

Cragen looked up in a startled fashion when Elliot barged into his office, the door swinging so hard that the blinds lifted from the plexi-glass window. He was about to chew him out for nearly breaking his door when he thought better of it after seeing the frantic expression on his face.

"What's up?" he asked, his tone all business.

"You've gotta hear this," Elliot managed to gasp out, and held up his cell phone.

"Why? What happened?" He didn't like the panicked note in Elliot's voice.

"Just…just listen to it." Cragen watched as Elliot pushed a few buttons and held the phone up to his ear, then pulled it away to put it on speaker.

"Received, today at, 5:27 p.m.," the recorded voice said.

"_Take the car out of the city."_

"_How far?"_

Cragen's eyes widened slightly. That second voice was Olivia's; even with the sore throat he'd recognize her voice any day.

"…_it! NOW!"_

"_Okay, I'm going, I'm going…"_

The man with her continued ordering her to take certain directions, and for over twenty minutes, Cragen and Elliot listened to the snippet of recorded conversation that had found its way into Elliot's voice mail; by then, Elliot was seated in a chair in one corner of the room, his face buried in his hands.

Finally, the call ended, the electronic voice signaling the end of the message.

The captain and his detective sat in silent shock for a few minutes.

"That message came in over an hour ago," Elliot whispered into the silent room, his face still hidden in his hands. "God knows where she is now..."

Cragen was silent for a few moments longer, his eyes shut and his head leaning against the laced fingers of his hands which were propped up by the elbows of his arms. His heart pounded as the message replayed itself in his head. Taking a few deep breaths, he calmed down, telling himself that now wasn't the time to let doubt cloud his mind.

Now was the time for action, to do everything possible to get back the woman he considered one of his own.

And come Hell or high water, he would make sure that Olivia came home.

"Elliot," he said, his voice stern. Elliot looked up, blue eyes shadowed with worry, but glinting with a determined fire that overpowered the doubts swimming in those sky blue hues.

"Don't worry. I'm calling Fin right now," the detective said back, his voice calm and controlled, his fingers moving rapidly over the keypad of the phone in his hands.

Cragen nodded and picked up his phone to call Munch, hiding the small, reassured smile on his face behind a cough and clearing of his throat.

**000**

Olivia pulled the car over to the side of the deserted forest road. They were just outside of Manhattan, and there was no way in hell she was driving this lunatic anywhere else in her car.

She was out of gas anyway, and if she drove any more, she could get them killed considering how dizzy and feverish she felt. Groaning inwardly, she put her head on the steering wheel, trying to ignore the gun barrel smacking the back of her head and pounding into her back.

She couldn't help thinking that there were going to be some serious bruises there the next day.

"Get up and keep driving! What are you waiting for? I said drive!" he shouted at her.

_He reminds me of a military drill sergeant_, she thought to herself.

"I can't drive any further. I'm out of gas and there's no gas station." _And I'm fucking sick, you asshole_, she said in her head. She couldn't wait to kick his ass when she had the chance.

"Can't drive, huh? Then get out of the car." She heard the back door open, and felt the car shift as he climbed out of her Honda. And for a few minutes, she heard blissful silence.

She must have dozed off just slightly, because the next thing she knew, she was being dragged out of the car by her hair—_Ouch! Forget kicking his ass, I'm gonna kill him!_ she thought as the pain assaulted her scalp—and tossed her to the dirt and gravel that lay under the tires of her vehicle.

She looked up briefly to see jade eyes glaring down at her, and then felt his booted foot connect with her stomach. She kicked back as well, albeit weakly, with the heel of her dress shoes. He yelped, and then, growling at her, he kicked her harder, this time in the side. Feeling the pain, she curled in on herself in the fetal position, lying on her side, and felt his boot connect with her back in the spot where the gun had been hitting her. Unwilling to cry out as he kept kicking her, she bit down on her bottom lip and continued trying to breathe normally.

Then he picked her up by the hair again, turning her face to look at him. "How dare you defy orders, bitch?"

She glared at him, and spat in his face in a futile attempt to fight back. God, she hated being too sick to counter an assailant.

She felt his fist connect with her face, and the world went black.

**TBC…**


	3. Chapter Three

**From the author's desk:** And here's Chapter Three, finally! Sorry it came out so late! Once again, thank you to all who read and/or reviewed! It makes me very happy to know that my work is being appreciated in this fandom. And I apologize if there are any typos; it's 1:23 AM right now, and I'm tired, but I did my best to proofread for whatever errors I could find. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! I think it's the longest yet!

**Disclaimer:** Dick Wolf owns them, not me.

**Dedication:** This chapter is for **Kelly of the Midnight Dawn** for letting me throw my thought processes at her.

_**Men of Honor  
**_by **_IceAngelKaoru_**

**Chapter Three**

The squad room was quiet and tense, Cragen and his detectives working diligently through Olivia's old case files, looking for clues.. Outside, the world was facing the early hour of seven in the morning, and soon other officers in the precinct would arrive to begin their days.

Olivia had been missing since at least five-thirty in the evening the night before, and they had no leads. Munch and Fin had come in immediately after they were informed, and they all backtracked to when she had left, and combed through what they assumed were her plans. Elliot had called her doctor's office, and had figured out that she'd been there between three and four-thirty in the afternoon. He'd then directed Fin and Munch to her pharmacy; someone there confirmed that she'd been there for about an hour while her prescription was being filled.

This meant that Olivia had been taken from the pharmacy.

That was the last time anyone had seen her.

And now she had been missing for more than twelve hours.

Elliot didn't know what to think anymore. His partner and best friend—the one woman who had unintentionally become the focal point of his world (though he absolutely refused to acknowledge this fact)—was missing and God knows where.

He would not give up until she'd been found. He was her partner and he would have her back, whether she was there physically or not.

He tossed another folder to the side, unable to stare anymore at the text in the case files; his eyes felt tired, his head throbbed from the strain, and he felt sick to his stomach because the last time he'd eaten anything had been the afternoon snack of chips and soda when Olivia was still dozing at her desk. Rubbing a hand over his face, he stood from his seat and made his way over to the coffee machine to get another cup of the dark brown, energy-giving elixir.

Deep brown and energized—those were Olivia's eyes. He shook his head; now wasn't the time for fantasizing. Now was the time to focus, to do whatever possible to find her.

Cragen came out of his office, looking just as tired as the three of them. "What've we got, guys?"

"Jack shit," he muttered bitterly, not bothering to look at the older man as he focused on drinking his coffee.

His captain glanced at him and looked to the other two for confirmation. They both shook their heads silently in defeated agreement; they were tired from staying up all night to get through the case files, and it was true that none of them had found anything.

"Okay," Cragen said. "It's time use different tactics. I'm calling for a press conference in an hour. There must have been dozens of people who at least saw her on the street or something yesterday. Let's get the public involved; maybe they know something we don't."

**000**

Olivia woke slowly, the pain in her body throbbing and mixing with her headache and fever. Where she lay it was cold and damp; her clothes were dripping wet on her skin, and she wondered if she'd been dragged through some form of water. She inhaled slowly, and began to cough violently, her body shaking with each one, only to feel a wave of water wash over her again. She looked up to see her captor standing over her with an empty bucket in his left hand.

"You're finally awake," he spat maliciously at her.

She looked up at him, studying him as he stood over her.

"What do you want from me?" she rasped out, too tired to truly fight him.

He tossed the bucket to the side and squatted down until his face was mere inches from hers, jade eyes glittering insanely as the oiliest smile she'd ever seen spread over his face. "I'm going to make him suffer, and you are my key to doing it. That's all you need to know."

Her eyes widened as she realized whom "he" was.

_Oh God. Elliot._

Then she braced herself as he grabbed hold of her wet hair, pulling her sickened body to its feet. She realized belatedly that her hands were in front of her, and with her own cuffs no less, as she saw the room spin around her while her captor forced her up the stairs that stood in the corner.

He dragged her out to the front porch, and pushed her down onto her knees. From the corner of her eye, she saw a Swiss Army knife appear in his hand. The sharpened blade flipped out of its little enclosure, and she involuntarily trembled.

She watched as the knife came closer and closer to her until it just barely grazed the skin over her jugular vein. The blade dragged slowly up her throat to her chin, then up her chin to her ear. It circled her ear a bit until it finally lifted away from her into the air.

She hoped that, maybe, he wasn't going to do anything with it after that slight bit of torture.

The grip on her hair tightened, and seconds later, a thick clump of deep brown hair fell to the wooden floor beneath the captor and herself, the hair tie still tangled in the strands.

**000**

The press conference had been a great idea on Cragen's part, Elliot had to admit. The only frustrating thing for him was to have random people calling the precinct only to have no useful information.

Then at ten that same morning, something amazing happened.

A girl, no more than fourteen, walked in accompanied by an older woman, who was most presumably her mother. Elliot, feeling useless up until that moment, decided he would talk to them.

Walking up to them, he introduced himself as professionally as he could, considering the circumstances. "My name's Detective Stabler. Can I help you?"

The girl looked at her mother, who gave her a small encouraging push forward. The girl turned to him, pushing a lock of her loose black hair behind her ear as she smiled nervously at him.

"Hi. My name's Jennifer Mason. Um…my mom and I saw the press conference this morning about Detective Benson's abduction. And, um, I wanted to come in to see if I could help."

He blinked at her for a minute, not used to having a girl her age come in and not need help herself. "Well, can you tell me how you mean to help?"

"Um…her car, the dark green Honda Civic? It was parked a little bit away from ours, and I got a good-enough look at the guy to draw his face."

She opened the deep blue messenger bag slung on her shoulder as her mother stood off to the side. Elliot was amazed at this girl, and was glad to know that children like her still existed and flourished, even with all the sick things that filled this city. He smiled encouragingly at her, and led her over to a seat next to his desk so that she could pull out whatever it was she was looking for in an easier manner.

"Um, here," she said, shyly handing over the sketchpad in her hands. He flipped it open, glimpsing the colorful and detailed drawings of different people; they were very accurate for a fourteen-year-old. Finally, he came to the very last drawing, and saw a close up of a man…wearing a black ski mask. The skin around the eyes and mouth had been colored, as had been the neck, and the top of what looked to be a jacket collar.

The skin shown hinted the perp being a Caucasian, and the eyes were a unique jade-green. The collar of whatever he was wearing was shaded a dark blue, and Elliot's keen eyes could make out what looked like black lining along the top.

"Jennifer, this is an amazing facial sketch. Where did you learn to draw like this?" he asked her gently, trying to get her to ease up; the poor girl was so nervous that the knuckles of the fists that lay clenched in her lap were turning white.

He saw the hint of a smile on her pretty face, and he glanced at her mother standing in the corner with a proud smile across her visage.

"I'm in Advanced Art at my high school, and I've been drawing since the first grade," she said timidly, pretty gray eyes twinkling with pride.

"Jennifer, when you saw this guy yesterday, why didn't you call 911 to report him?"

She frowned. "Sir, I'm only fourteen. Who's going to take a fourteen-year-old like me seriously?"

This time it was his turn to frown; inside he felt a little angry that this girl hadn't tried to get in touch with the police at the first sign of trouble. Sighing, he squashed the anger, telling himself it wasn't her fault that Olivia was missing, and this girl had been the most helpful of the small number of witnesses that they now had in this investigation.

"If there's a next time, Jennifer, I want you to call the police at the first sign of trouble, okay? Taking you seriously is for us to decide, and you have nothing to be worried about if you know for sure that something is wrong. Do you understand?"

She nodded, a guilty look on her face.

"Okay. Do you think you could try sitting with a sketch artist to see if you can get the details under the mask, and maybe help us figure out the body type and height?"

She nodded, this time with more confidence than before. "Sure. Anything to help."

He felt a warm tug on his heart when she smiled up at him innocently, and he smiled back at her.

Leaning forward, he whispered solemnly, "And just between you and me, I think you're one very smart young lady."

Pretending to make sure no one was looking, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a Snickers bar and handed it over to her. Jennifer covered her mouth as she giggled, took the candy bar from him and stuffed it into her messenger bag.

Sittiing up straight again, Elliot smiled at the girl in front of him and called Adam Crawford, the sketch artist assigned to the 1-6, and introduced Jennifer to him. Getting up from his seat to let the two of them work right there, Elliot went over to the mother, who was sitting on a nearby bench.

"You have an amazing daughter, Mrs. Mason," he commented with a smile. He hadn't felt this good since last night. She smiled quietly up at him, and glanced at her daughter sitting with Adam at his desk.

"Can I get you anything? Coffee, juice, something to eat?"

"No, thank you," she said politely.

"Whose idea was it to come down here, if I may ask?" he asked her, sitting down next to her.

"Well, after we saw the press conference, she told me what she had seen yesterday—she hadn't breathed a word of it to me all last night—and then she showed me her sketch. She said she hadn't said anything because she thought she wouldn't be taken seriously; I convinced her to come down here, and see if what she had seen could be useful."

Elliot nodded, and was about to comment, when a uniformed postal serviceman walked through the door, looking confused.

"Can I help you?" Elliot called to the man, standing from his seat on the bench.

"Yeah…I'm looking for someone named Elliot Stabler," he said.

"That's me," Elliot confirmed, and walked forward to stand near him. The delivery man pulled out a white envelope from his shoulder bag and handed it to him in his outstretched hand, and then walked away.

Elliot examined the envelope, turning it over and over in his hand, seeing no return address, only his name and the address of the precinct written in bold, block letters across the center of the envelope.

He felt dread curl deep in his stomach; in his line of work, packages and letters without return addresses were the last thing one ever wanted to see when on a case. Taking a deep breath, he ripped open the envelope, and pulled out the folded piece of paper inside.

He unfolded the paper slowly, not wanting to know what was inside. For all he knew, it could be a sick photo of his missing partner, lying beaten and broken somewhere, and that was really the last thing he wanted to see at that moment.

But there was no photo. It was something much, much worse.

_**You took what I wanted,  
So I took what is yours.  
Think fast, Stabler,  
or she goes through Hell's doors.**_

_**At a place made of wood,  
sits a large hall for mess.  
Nearby is an office,  
With a large printing press.**_

_**Don't waste your time,  
Or you may be too late.  
'cause then she'll be dead  
At thirty-five past the eight.**_

There was no signature.

He read over the note again, his hand trembling so badly, he could barely hold the paper steady enough to read it.

"Captain!" he bellowed. "We have contact!"

**TBC…**


	4. Chapter Four

**From the author's desk:** Hi, everyone. I know, it's been a very long few weeks since I last updated, and I'm sorry for that. Unfortunately, on top of the writer's block I faced with writing this chapter, I was having some family problems that I had to resolve. Coupled with that, I lost someone that I cared about earlier this last week, and I am still grieving that loss.

But onto happier things—this new chapter! I just want to say thank you to all of you who read and/or reviewed. It means a lot to me to know that people are having a good time reading this story; I'll have you know that I'm having a blast writing it.

So here you go—Chapter Four! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Dick Wolf owns them, not me.

**Dedication:** This chapter is for **Kelly of the Midnight Dawn**, because she's awesome and fun to bounce ideas off of (even if I end up doing something almost completely different). I love you, Kelly!

**Warning:** Slight spoilers for the Season 6 episode "Scavenger". Mild (and I mean _mild_) mention of rape.

_**Men of Honor  
**_by _**IceAngelKaoru**_

**Chapter Four**

Olivia lay on the floor of the cellar she was in before, raggedly-cut hair falling into fever-glazed brown eyes.

She couldn't think anymore, move anymore, fight anymore. The pneumonia coursing through her body was suffocating her, expelling the air she managed to shallowly breathe into her lungs in a series of coughs that shook her like a leaf on a tree in late autumn. She still had a fever, and the chills were constantly running up and down her spine, leaving her feeling hot and cold at the same time. She was drained of energy—those two buckets of water from earlier had soaked into her clothes, increasing her discomfort and raising her temperature by at least a few tenths of a degree, if not more—and all she could do was lie there on the floor, unmoving and weak as a newborn kitten.

And worst of all, she was being held captive by someone who was really after her partner, and she couldn't do a damn thing about it. She hurt too much to move, considering he'd beaten her black and blue the day before; she was fairly certain that at least one of her bones was broken (or severely bruised—either way hurt like a bitch).

She had been given no food, and no water either. She was lucky that there was a small bathroom with a toilet and running water, even if it was the grimiest place she'd ever had to use to relieve herself, but she wouldn't complain since it meant that she didn't have to soil the only set of clothes she had.

Judging by the way the light passed through the tiny window high above her head on the wall to her right, she'd been taken for almost a full day, with maybe just a few more hours to go to reach the 24-hour period.

By now, the search for her must have been in full swing, with Elliot most likely leading the investigation.

As her eyes drooped shut in exhaustion, she could only hope that she'd be found soon. She couldn't _wait_ to kick this guy's ass.

**000**

The 16th precinct was filled with pandemonium as Elliot observed the people answering the phones and running around with boxes of Olivia's—and now, his—case files from the behind the railing of the lounge upstairs.

He was still reeling with the fact that this case had suddenly presented itself as a personal vendetta against him.

He wasn't stupid; he knew that he had pissed off more than just a handful of suspects and perps from his old cases. That's just something that came with his job description, even if it wasn't blatantly stated.

But who was this anonymous criminal that claimed that he, Elliot, had taken what rightfully belonged to him instead?

And what could he possibly think belonged to him?

Elliot shook his head. He had to figure out that riddle, and get to this perp, and get Olivia back.

Not that his brain hadn't been turning the damn thing over and over in his head already. He was sure he—and the rest of them—would solve it.

Coming back down to the bullpen, the blue-eyed detective made his way over to the whiteboard where the riddle had been rewritten so that the original could be sent to CSU for print-dusting. Elliot stared at the words, ignoring the first four lines, which he assumed were a taunt toward him.

Elliot looked at the column next to the riddle on the board, his notes blending with those of his fellow detectives; he'd never felt as lost he did now. The answers to the riddles in the RDK copycat case weren't this hidden, but he also had Olivia to help him crack the answers. If only he could translate more than "large hall for mess", which Elliot put together as a restaurant, which must also be relatively large…

Elliot scowled at the board; he hated riddles with a passion.

Nearby, John was staring intently at the board, lens-hidden eyes narrowed as the wheels in his head churned out a possible solution to the rhyme.

'Hey, Elliot…I think I figured it out."

Elliot looked silently at his friend and colleague, blue eyes hopeful. "You think so?"

"…Yeah. I'm pretty sure I got it."

Elliot frowned. "Pretty sure isn't good enough. Either you have it or you don't."

John looked at him, the wrinkles around his face and mouth more defined from the stress of the last day, making him look much older. "Well, at this point, you don't have anything else to go on. So stop being an asshole about it and take what you get."

Elliot turned away in a huff and went to get Cragen while John called Fin over to the board; John was right, but the stress from this case was starting to take its toll on him, and his control on his temper and his tongue was beginning to slip.

Five minutes later, John Munch found himself under the scrutiny of his colleagues as they waited for him to explain what he'd figured out.

"I'm just going to get straight to the point. He's referring to two establishments in one place," he said, a triumphant smirk on his face.

"Could you be any more vague than that?" Elliot asked him sarcastically.

"Sure I can, but that would just be mean," the bespectacled man said.

"Cut the crap, Munch. We don't have time for more games," Cragen snapped, shutting up both Elliot and John.

"Fine. The 'place made of wood' is the boardwalk. He's referring to a restaurant that's close to a copy place there."

Fin examined the board behind his partner. "What about that last line—'Thirty-five past the eight?' What the hell does that mean?"

"It's a time. 'Thirty-five past the eight' refers to two numbers—three and fifteen. I just don't know which one he means."

Elliot looked at the large round clock that hung on the strip of wall under the railing of the lounge upstairs; the hands read two-forty. The hour hand was precariously close to the three, and the minute hand was dead on the eight; Elliot looked at the distance between the two numbers, trying to crack the code.

'_Thirty-five past the eight…'_

Something clicked in his head. "There's a space of thirty-five minutes between the numbers eight and three on the face of clock. When the minute hand is on the three, the thirty-five minutes are up. He means 3:15. We have until 3:15 to find this place on the boardwalk or he's going to—"

Elliot stopped himself finish from finishing the sentence.

Cragen took a deep breath and started dishing out orders. "Elliot, take Fin with you and go check out the boardwalk. Find this place, _fast_. And just a hint—look for a place with a copy machine in the window," he said, his finger pointing to the words "large printing press" on the whiteboard. "Munch, check in with CSU; see if they managed to get anything off the original copy of this damn riddle."

The three detectives nodded, and turned to grab their coats and leave.

"Elliot."

The blue-eyed man looked at his superior. "Yeah, Cap?"

"Be careful. You're the real target here."

Elliot nodded and hurried to join his colleagues in the elevator.

**000**

The scents of paper and ink and the sounds of copy and fax machines assaulted Elliot's ears as he stepped into _Copy Corner_, his throat constricted in despair at the realization that this was the fourth copy-and-fax place that he'd been to that was near a restaurant.

It was four-thirty—one hour and fifteen minutes too late.

Taking a deep breath, he walked up to the nearest unoccupied employee behind the counter in the middle of the store.

"Excuse me," he said politely, flashing his badge in the process. "I'm Detective Stabler with the NYPD, and I'm wondering if you've seen anyone who looks like this come in here today." He held up the page with both Jennifer's and the sketch artist's drawings—one with a mask, and one without.

"No," the guy said—Ryan, his name tag read—as he examined the drawings. "Then again, I've only been here since an hour ago."

Ryan turned to call to a young Asian girl a few feet away. "Hey, Keiko! You've been here since noon, right?"

She turned away from the customer she was helping and walked over to where Elliot stood with Ryan. "Yeah, I'm working double shifts today. Why?"

"I'm Detective Stabler, with the NYPD," Elliot said, flashing his badge again and holding up the drawings so that she could see them. "Have you seen anyone like this around here today?"

A look of recognition crossed her face at the mention of his name. "You said 'Stabler', right?"

Elliot nodded.

"We got a call at around two o'clock, saying he was faxing something over here for his friend; it was some...weird note...and an address. He didn't give his name, but he said that his friend's name was Stabler and that he'd come to pick it up," she said as she bent down to look at something under the counter.

"This is it," she said as she stood up again, a single sheet of paper in her hand. "Here."

Elliot took the paper from her, and felt his stomach drop even more at the words printed on the paper.

_**You can't see me yet,  
**__**Though we've previously met.  
**__**Come to this place,  
**__**And we'll talk face-to-face.**_

_**But don't be late!  
**__**Remember: "Thirty-five past the eight".**_

_**422 West 88**__**th**__** Street**_

The words "For Elliot Stabler" were printed at the top of the page in the same font as the rest of the note.

While Elliot slowly reread the note, he speed-dialed Fin; when the man picked up on the other line, he said, "We're too late. Meet me at the car; I've got a place we need to check out."

"Gotcha. I'll meet you in ten," Fin replied, and Elliot ended the call from his end.

An hour later found the two detectives in front of an empty lot about fourteen blocks north of where Elliot went to high school.

In the middle of the lot sat a vehicle covered in a cheap, opaque plastic sheet.

Elliot and Fin slowly got out of the car, staring intently at the car.

Fin glanced at the man next to him, and saw the worry lines around his eyes and the tension in his jaw; Elliot was as nervous as he was.

They both hoped to God that it wasn't Olivia's car.

Fin swallowed slowly, and took a deep breath. "Elliot."

His fellow detective looked at him. "We gotta look through it, man, even if we don't wanna."

Elliot sighed and nodded his head. "Yeah."

The two men stepped forward together, and made their way to the car parked in the middle of the lot. Once close enough, Fin grabbed the plastic sheet and pulled it away, revealing a dark green Honda Civic underneath. The windows were broken in, the glass all over the seats inside the car.

Elliot felt his blood run cold, sending a shudder through him that he hid by shoving his hands into his coat pockets

He tentatively looked through the shattered driver's side window into the car. A white paper bag sat innocently between the seats, the pharmacy's name printed on the front, with a receipt taped to the outside. Looking around some more, Elliot caught sight of a thick brown envelope sitting on the dashboard, his name printed in thick black ink. Snapping on a pair of white gloves that he'd snatched from his pocket (he was glad that he always kept a spare set around), he carefully reached in through the window and pulled the envelope out while Fin stood off to the side so as not to get in the way.

"Another note?" the dark-skinned man asked his colleague. Elliot glanced at him, and shrugged noncommittally.

"We're about to find out."

Elliot carefully unsealed the envelope from the side in the case that the top flap was sealed shut with saliva; CSU could use that to pull DNA, which could lead to a hit on the system.

Carefully sliding his gloved fingers into the envelope, he pulled out a small note, and moved closer to Fin so that he could have the benefit of reading as well.

_**Tsk, tsk, tsk. Sorry, you're too late. But in two days, I'll give you one more chance to meet me; until then, here's a clue to my identity, and a consolation prize for being a good sport. Fail again, and you'll find a dead body for sure.**_

It was signed with a picture of a tattoo design exactly like the one Elliot had on his bicep; it was an anchor—a tattoo design adopted by most Marines and ex-Marines.

"Great. He's a Marine. Or he was one. One of the two," Elliot muttered aloud darkly.

"If that's the clue, what's the prize?" Fin asked, the almost unnoticeable tremor in his voice the only thing betraying his fear.

"I don't know," Elliot said, and reached into envelope again. Feeling something slightly hard under his fingertips, he grasped it, and pulled the envelope off of his hand.

His eyes widened at what lay in his gloved hand, and he felt his brain go numb with shock. Fin turned away, feeling sick to his stomach.

"It's… It's her _hair_," Elliot gasped out into the silent, abandoned lot as he stared despairingly at the clump of deep brown strands that sat in his hand, the thick black hair tie still tangled within them. "It's Olivia's _hair_."

**000**

Olivia opened her eyes a crack, trying to bring her foggy mind into focus; something had disturbed her from the sleep she'd fallen into.

Seeing a pair of scuffed leather boots in front of her, she looked up slowly into the face of her captor. He was squatting near her head, his hand painfully gripping what was left of her sheared brown locks.

"I have two days to enjoy my prize until it's time to play again."

His jade eyes glinted in happy malice at her through the eyeholes in his mask. A slow, hungry smile spread over his mouth as his hand reached for the collar of her blouse and inside to trace her collarbone.

Olivia shook her head, and tried to move away as fear and panic pierced her heart and her eyes filled with tears.

She opened her mouth to scream, and a sinister chuckle filled the otherwise silent room, echoing off the walls, making the sound much louder than it was.

"Scream if you want. No one will hear you except me," he murmured into her ear as his other hand let go of her hair to slip into the waistband of her black slacks.

Olivia shut her eyes tightly and screamed for all she was worth, never feeling as defeated as she did then.

**TBC…**


	5. Chapter Five

**From the author's desk:** I'm so sorry about the delay! (bows head) This chapter gave me a lot of problems; I just couldn't get the right amount of inspiration to write it, or it just wasn't turning out right. What you're about to read is the second attempt to write this same chapter, and to tell you the truth, I'm still not happy with it. Honestly, though, I don't think it can get any better than this.

Once again, thank you to all of you lovely readers and reviewers for your support and patience! Please enjoy this installment!

**Disclaimer:** Dick Wolf owns them, not me. I claim creative license for (possibly) tweaking admission protocol for the Marine Corps., as well as the character of Jennifer Mason, as well as any other Original Characters (OCs) who may make appearances in future chapters.

**Dedication:** None this time!

**_Men of Honor  
_**by **_IceAngelKaoru_**

**Chapter Five**

She lay unmoving on the cold ground of the basement-turned-holding-cell. Her body ached both from the pneumonia consuming her lungs and from the wounds her rapist had dealt her.

In a way, she was thankful for the illness in her; she was certain that she had passed it onto her captor when he'd kissed her forcibly, and it had caused her to pass into blissful unconsciousness more than once, so she didn't remember everything he'd done.

Unfortunately, what she did remember, she was sure would haunt her for the rest of her life.

She cracked a sarcastic smile that did not reach her eyes as she stared at the wall across from her. How ironically fitting—the child of a rape turned victim of the same crime that created her.

_If I wasn't damaged goods before, then I am now._

Outside the window, she could see the first rays of light hitting the sky. It was the first amount of sunlight she'd seen in two days; she took it as a sign that today someone would find her, and take her away from this nightmarish reality she had been thrust into.

And above all, she hoped that it would be Elliot who found her in the end.

**000**

Elliot silently continued to fill the small cardboard box with old photo albums filled with pictures of himself while he was in the Marines. He figured that since this perp had a personal grudge against him, then there must be a connection to his past.

_And that fucking tat print was a dead giveaway. It's gotta be in these memories of mine._

"Dad? What are you doing?"

His eyes shifted silently to the doorway of the den, where Lizzie stood leaning against the doorway, her thick ponytail falling over her shoulder. He shook his head, taking with it the image of Olivia's hair laying in a clump in his palm.

"Taking some of these albums back to my place; it's work-related. What's up?"

"Nothing really. I, um, I saw the press conference the other day and, um, wanted to see how you were holding up. You know, because of, um, what happened with Olivia."

He gave a heavy sigh and couldn't help but smile at his daughter, even if it didn't completely reach his eyes. "Come here."

She came toward him, and he gathered her in a long hug, his cheek resting against her head. He was very well aware that Lizzie had a special fondness for Olivia, and was sure that the news had hit her quite hard. "I feel better now, thanks."

"For sure?" she asked him, her voice muffled in her father's sweater.

"For sure."

"Daddy… I'm worried about her," she whispered.

"I know. I am too."

"Do you think she'll be okay?"

He held his daughter a little tighter, trying to soothe her troubles. "I won't let it be any other way."

**000**

Later, Elliot sat pouring over his albums and old pictures which were spread haphazardly across his coffee table. He was looking for anyone, or anything, that could help him identify the man that had taken his partner and best friend so ruthlessly.

Unable to stare at the photos anymore, he got up, and lightly padded into the kitchen to grab a cold drink from his fridge; he needed a break.

More than anything, he wanted this horrible nightmare to be over.

Slowly sipping the ice cold water, he let his tired and burning eyes slide shut for a few seconds, reveling in the refreshing sensation of the chilled liquid sliding down his throat and through his body.

_The most striking thing in the drawings about the guy is his eyes…_

Both the sketch artist and Jennifer had unintentionally drawn special attention to the eyes in their drawings, most likely because of the ski mask over his head.

_Who the hell do I know that has green eyes like those? Like jade or something._

Placing the empty glass in the sink, Elliot returned to the living room, and once again seated himself in front of the coffee table. He slowly flipped through the pages of the albums in the silence of his small apartment, the lack of noise pressing on him, stifling him and crippling his concentration as he tried to find something, _anything_, he could use.

Turning the television in the corner on and setting the volume on medium-low, Elliot returned to the album in front of him. Flipping the pages slowly, one particular picture caught his attention.

It was a group photo from 1986. From the crowd, however, he paid attention to the younger version of him smirked coolly at the camera and the man next to him who stood grinning politely at the lens, one arm across young Elliot's shoulders. The guy was undoubtedly handsome, with his short-cropped honey-brown hair, and a cold, slightly unwelcome frigidity to his expression. However, Elliot even overlooked that observation in favor of something much more solid—a feature so distinct that it was now more familiar to him than anything else about the man he was hunting for.

A pair of pale, jade green eyes so cold and clear they sent chills down his spine stared back at him, as if mocking him.

Elliot glanced at the caption under the photo: _"Me, Harvey O'Neill (right), and the rest of our group—Setting out to 'save the world.'"_

He felt the air in his lungs freeze with the realization that he finally, just _maybe_, might have a name for his perp.

Not wanting to waste any time, he picked up his phone and pressed the buttons needed to call his captain.

**000**

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings.

"Stabler, you better have a damn good reason for calling me at…" Cragen looked at the alarm clock on his bedside table, "…2:30 in the morning."

He heard Elliot take a deep, shaky breath. "I-I'm pretty sure I got a name on our guy."

"What? How?"

Cragen was awake and alert in an instant.

"I was digging through my old stuff, since the guy's got a personal grudge against me. I was looking for something, anything that could match to the description we have, and I found a guy that matches the eyes dead on in an old photo. His name is Harvey O'Neill," Elliot explained quickly.

Cragen rubbed his eyes. "You realize, I'm sure, that just because a pair of eyes in a photograph sort of matches a drawing, it doesn't mean we have our guy. That doesn't even come close to substantial evidence."

He heard Elliot swallow slowly as he processed what he was being told. "I know, Cap. But what else do we have to go on? We have no background, no initials. Just a basic description of a guy, and those damn riddles! We can't even pull prints off the paper since he was smart enough to hide them. What-what else are we supposed to do?"

Cragen sighed, exhausted; he wanted this case to be over just as much as Elliot and the rest of the team did. He wanted Olivia back, safe and sound.

"Fine. Run with it; I want priors on this guy by this time last night."

Elliot gave an affirmative answer, and hung up.

Sighing, Cragen lay back down to stare at the ceiling.

_Dear God,_ he thought, _how much longer must we suffer through this trial you have given us? Please, all I ask is that you bring back our Olivia to us. That's all I want._

Closing his eyes, Cragen fell back into an uneasy sleep.

**000**

At five in the morning, Elliot found himself sitting at his desk in the squad room, running O'Neill's name through the computer.

_C'mon, c'mon, give me something…_

The computer beeped at him, indicating a hit, and Elliot moved the cursor to the date listed.

_April 20, 1981…_

Clicking it, Elliot quickly scanned the information on the screen, and then printed a couple copies.

_So he had a prior offense for sexually harassing a teacher, but was let off the hook. The address is still listed; maybe people still live there…_

Writing the address down on a Post-It, Elliot couldn't help but feel like they had finally caught a break in, quite possibly, the toughest case of all their careers.

Standing and stretching, Elliot turned his head to one of the large windows to see the first rays of dawn slide across the world outside and through the glass.

Today was the second day after the last letter.

Today would be the end of things, Elliot was sure.

Little did he know, that in a remote basement hidden from prying eyes, Olivia Benson was staring at the same sunbeams, a quiet hope in her heart that she would be found that day.


End file.
